


homecoming king

by haloud



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex POV, Anal Sex, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Smut, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Nebulous Well-Adjusted Future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29951514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haloud/pseuds/haloud
Summary: Alex comes home hungry after two weeks away.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 16
Kudos: 98
Collections: Roswell New Mexico Comment Bingo Prizes





	homecoming king

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lambourn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lambourn/gifts).



Alex knew he was home, not when his plane touched down in Albuquerque, not when he passed the kitschy sign welcoming him to Roswell, but when he climbed out of his car, stretched away some of the aches of the road, and felt his suitcase lighten in his hand.

Glancing over to the front door, he was met with the most welcome sight in the world—Michael lounging against a pillar, barefoot and dressed only in a pair of his sweats. Did he sleep? If he did, his skin would still be warm and soft from it. The cool morning air pricked at Alex’s skin, soothed his beating chest with every inhale.

Michael raised an eyebrow, and Alex nodded, releasing the handle of his suitcase to let Michael carry it away with his TK, placing it just inside the front door. Then Michael took one step off the porch, Alex rounded the front of his car, and before Alex could blink Michael’s arms were around him, Michael’s grinning mouth was pressed against his neck, their heartbeats thundering together. Alex wound his fingers in Michael’s curls and kissed the side of his head, the closest thing he could reach, let out a measured sigh that stirred the little hairs standing up on Michael’s skin.

_Home._

As he drew back, Michael slid his hands along the plane of Alex’s back to curve around his ribs; but he only went far enough to nudge his forehead against Alex’s, freeing his mouth enough to speak.

“Good trip?”

Alex just laughed, cupping Michael’s face in both hands, tipping him at a better angle to kiss him, lavishing in the rough-soft of his chapped lips, the liquid heat of his tongue sneaking a taste. When they pulled apart, Alex answered him, “Not compared to this,” and drew him back in to kiss him again, Michael swaying into him, laughing into each other, giddy with something as simple as small talk.

The last two weeks had been an unacceptable eternity, but it was over now.

“Want to get out of the driveway?” Alex said in Michael’s ear, and Michael pulled back, ran his hand down Alex’s arm to take his hand, and pulled him toward the door.

“Sure thing. Wanna get you off your feet.”

The words were innocent enough, but the way Michael’s tongue stroked his bottom lip was anything but.

They all but rushed to the door and privacy, and once inside, the door fell shut behind them, taking half the light with it. In the soft blue of morning, Michael’s hair was dark, his eyes still drooping with sleep, his shoulders rounded and his lines soft, and Alex was too awake from travel, too sensitive from weeks of understimulation, Michael a shock to all his systems. His suitcase floated toward the bedroom and settled at the foot of the bed for Alex to unpack it whenever he was ready. But he wasn’t ready yet. There were other things he had to do first.

His mind sent a hundred signals in a hundred different directions; there were a hundred things he needed to do, wanted to do now that he was home; but only one of them was important, and it screamed loud enough to drown out any inhibition that might try to lodge a complaint. He just about leapt into Michael’s arms, and Michael caught him with an _oof,_ locking his arms around Alex’s waist, Alex’s shirt and hoodie rucking up so Michael’s arm laid across skin, and Michael held him with his feet a couple inches off the ground, bearing all his weight, solid and steady.

“Hey,” Michael murmured, nuzzling the side of his neck.

“Hey,” Alex whispered back. He raked his fingers through Michael’s hair a few times while Michael held him, then said, voice just as low, “You going to carry me to bed?”

“Yeah?” Michael nudged their noses together, speaking right against his mouth. “That what you want?”

Alex nodded, rocking their foreheads against each other. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

Michael caught his mouth in another kiss, and Alex fit his fingers on the curve of Michael’s jaw, fingering the sweet roughness of his stubble, basking in the sensory input.

“Let’s take care of that, huh?” Michael murmured when they parted.

Before Michael took even a single step toward the bedroom, Alex kissed him again, so starving he couldn’t bear to even have him distracted by walking. With a gentle moan buzzing between their lips, Michael leaned forward, dipped Alex down to kiss him deeper, Alex wrapping a leg around his waist, opening himself up in every way he had to devour Michael’s warmth.

“We even gonna make it?” Michael rasped. “Or do you want me to lay you out right here, babe?”

Alex slid his hands down to cradle Michael’s neck, drawing him into another kiss, and another, and in between, he said, “Here is fine. Here is great…”

“Don’t know if it’s good enough for you.” Michael grabbed his thigh, holding his leg high up on his hip and starting to rock them together, firm enough when he ground down to make Alex arch back out of pure instinct. “I want to get you on the bed, give you everything you need, give it to you right…”

Pushing his weight forward, Alex swept Michael off balance, sliding a hand down his bare chest and twisting his grip in the waistband of Michael’s sweats, only inches from the mouth-watering line of his half-hard cock. He arched his own hips to make certain they rocked together, to make Michael’s eyelashes flutter, and then he said:

“Then give it to me.”

And let go of Michael, spun around, and stalked toward the bedroom with Michael on his heels. Michael caught up to him just over the threshold; Alex was arrested by arms around his waist, hauling him back against Michael’s strong body, his cock rocking against the curve of his ass, and Alex let out a laughing moan, moving with Michael as he almost-lifted him again and deposited him on the bed. They didn’t need to talk; on instinct, Alex started taking his leg off—he wasn’t going to need it for a few hours—while Michael grabbed lube and condoms and wet cloths to clean up with after, and then Michael was behind him, kneeling, an arm around his stomach and his lips against his neck.

“You smell so good,” Michael groaned, and Alex could only laugh, because whatever scent Michael found on his skin paled in comparison to the heady perfume of rain that soaked them both, that wet each grateful breath into lungs that had been too long without it.

“I want to smell like you,” Alex blurted, then bit his lip, then forced himself to let go. It didn’t matter how embarrassed he was to say things like that, Michael—

Yeah, Michael groaned again, fingers creeping up under the hem of Alex’s shirt, and Alex let him strip him out of it. The first touch of skin on skin lit up Alex’s senses so bad he shook, a rolling shiver that ran down his spine and over his skin and under Michael’s hands, rubbing up his arms to his shoulders and down again.

“Alex…”

“Michael.”

And then Alex was caught, looking up just an inch or two into Michael’s huge, sparkling eyes, his slightly furrowed brow, his red, parted mouth.

Just two weeks. Was it only? God.

Two weeks of texts and pictures and the simulation of his voice a phone could produce, and it hadn’t been enough. Alex was new all over again back in Michael’s arms, in _their home,_ and Alex could feel Michael anywhere, anywhere in the world, but when they were together, when they collided in space, nobody ever got used to that.

“What do you need,” Michael almost-begged. He was always asking to be allowed to give Alex what he needed.

“I told you—I want to smell like you.” Alex said, running a hand down his thigh and hitching his own over top of it, canting his body back so the curve of his ass rested sweeter in Michael’s lap. Michael held him there, his hand a lovely fulcrum giving him leverage to rock their half-hard cocks together.

As Michael murmured and started rocking with him, Alex said, “I’m not gonna last—”

“Me neither—”

“Not for the first one.”

At that, Michael blushed, and Alex had to fight down a grin to continue, “I want to be inside you, but we aren’t going to get that far.” Already, Alex could feel his groin tightening, the warmth of Michael’s body, the feel of his friction, perfect, perfect. “So I just want you to come on me, let me feel you, make me yours—”

“Alex!”

“—And I’ll make you mine.”

Alex pitched his voice low, on purpose, rewarded with the way Michael’s pupils blew black and deep, the way his fingers clenched on Alex’s thighs, tips digging into his ass, until he was scrambling to get his pants pulled down before he spent in them like the teenagers they were always making of each other. Alex knocked their foreheads together, giggling helplessly at the urgency in Michael’s movements. He was so fucking cute, and hot, and Alex did that to him. _Alex Manes._

A few quick pumps of their fumbling hands, a rub of Michael’s cock against the tender skin of his thigh, high up just before hair began, the texture of Michael’s treasure trail against his sensitive, sensitive skin—Michael came first, with a shuddery gasp, and Alex tumbled after him, tipped over by the hot streak of Michael’s come against his skin, the feeling of Michael’s hand right after, rubbing it into his skin, just like, just like Alex had—it hadn’t sounded like begging when he said it, but he was—just like Alex asked, to smell like him, to be _his._ It was hot. It was a little over the top. But it was something _primal_ in Alex’s chest; something farther away than the stars, something closer together than atomic nuclei.

A soft sigh feathered across Alex’s cheek, so Alex reached up and ran his thumb along the lower lip that gave it to him. Michael dipped his head to kiss it, taking the tip into his mouth and sucking it in, just holding it between his teeth.

So much he could do with Michael like this. Wipe Alex’s own spend from his skin and lay it on his tongue, roll Michael on top of him and pull him down until nothing else was real, or do the other, and press Michael down, down, bury himself and everything he is and all the missing time and all the missing pieces in his body.

When Michael told him—the pieces want to be together—they were deep underground, and the only light for miles in any direction but up came from Michael’s eyes. Here, now, with the first true yellow of morning peeking through the parted curtains, Alex understands.

“What are you thinking?”

Michael pulled his mouth off Alex’s digit, so Alex wiped it on his cheek, focused on the pattern of pores and freckles and every minute detail of his face, drinking in his fill before he tries to answer.

“I’m thinking…I need to get out of the next trip somehow. I’m thinking about being glad to be home. I’m thinking…I’m still hungry.”

Michael’s pupils widen, his cock twitching against his thigh, so Alex drops a hand to give it a little love, and Michael curls around him, sliding a thigh between his.

“I’m still hungry, too.”

Alex swallowed; Michael’s eyes tracked the bob of his throat. “How do you want to get fed?” Alex asked, voice hoarse.

Rolling them both, Michael didn’t answer and squirmed down Alex’s body, kissing down his sternum and his belly and lower as he went, until he was on his stomach at the foot of the bed and looking up, tucking one of Alex’s thighs over his shoulder, and diving down.

“Fuck, Guerin!”

Alex shouted, hand flying down to grip Michael’s hair and tug as his cock sank into Michael’s hot, wet mouth.

Pulling off to take a breath and adjust his angle, Michael wiped his mouth and glanced back up, and Alex gave him his due—his undivided attention. He was so fucking beautiful—so fucking beautiful—all golden skin and well-padded muscle and soft, honey-brown curls—so much of him to watch and take in, and Alex savored it, stroked down his face and across his shoulders and back and everywhere he could reach, but his hands always returned to his hair, petting and pulling at him while he let little sounds of pleasure escape his mouth. Watching Michael for any sign of discomfort, he rolled his hips into the suction of his mouth; but all Michael did was begin to roll his own hips in rhythm, frotting his cock against the bedsheets.

Finally, Alex pulled harder, yanking Michael up by an inch or two despite the unsatisfied noise he made.

His voice was hoarse—cock-rough—and he whined, “Alex—”

“Enough,” Alex said, and that one word was enough to get him to close his mouth, a jolt of fire licking through Alex’s veins at that reaction, roaring hot enough to loose his next words. “You like the taste too much, and I don’t want you coming from my cock in your throat before I’m done with you.”

“I could come again—as many times as you want. Til I’m dry, til it hurts—” Michael panted.

“You can come when and how I want you to,” Alex corrected.

Michael moaned theatrically, eyes rolling and a grin spreading wide across his full mouth, and he crawled up Alex’s body to kiss him silly, Alex grinning into the kiss all the same, licking the taste of his skin out of Michael’s mouth.

Murmuring against his lips, Michael said, “How do you want me, then?”

“Lie back.”

He obeyed, flopping down among the pillows, and Alex moved to straddle his thighs, to give him the space to stroke his soft cock back to hardness.

“You’re still smiling,” Alex commented. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much control Alex thought his life let him with, that smile on Michael’s face did funny things to his stomach.

“Got a lot to smile about. Now that you’re back.”

“Cheeseball.”

“’S true.”

Alex ignored that along with Michael wandering his hands all over his body, his chest and his sides and his arms and his hips—he could grab his wrists, lean his weight forward and pin them to the bed and bite at Michael’s throat until he whimpered and kept himself still—but he needed to be touched as bad as Michael needed to touch him, so he let it slide.

“Did you touch yourself while I was gone?” He asked, tilting his head to better take in the sight of Michael, hair haloed across the pillow, golden skin against the dark blue sheets.

“You know I did.”

“That’s right.”

Abandoning Michael’s cock, Alex ran his nails down his thighs and back up, paying special attention to the curve of his ass, the sensitive skin right where his legs joined, leaving light welts just barely enough to sting, souvenirs for Michael to ponder the rest of the day, at least. Maybe he’d leave more before he had his fill. He wouldn’t be going anywhere again anytime soon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t make sure Michael remembered him in every step, every breath.

Too possessive? Maybe so. But Michael drank it all in, in long, thirsty gulps, body twisting under Alex with every touch, and his desperation told Alex everything words couldn’t—possession was an ecstasy unparalleled.

“What did you think about?” Alex asked, taking his own cock in hand and stroking it slowly, still wet enough from Michael’s mouth to slick his way, a thought that sent a pulse of blood right to his groin.

“Mmmn…” Michael shifted underneath him, and Alex put a hand on his hip to guide him, to make him comfortable, to ground them both. Then Michael continued, “Thought about having you underneath me, had a vibe in my ass and thought about fucking you while you controlled it. You’d keep me on the edge but I’d come just from seeing your face when I gave it to you…then later I’d suck you off in the shower.”

Alex nodded. He could picture it: the vibrator buzzing just below hearing, the thrust of Michael’s body, the flex of his stomach, the way his hips would writhe on the backstroke as his own shifting muscles worked the vibe inside him—then, later—the pounding of the water, Alex gripping the shower bench to keep himself stead, Michael’s mouth and throat working him tip to root—

“Good boy. I love your imagination.”

But he didn’t move to reach for the drawer where they kept the few toys they used; he was in a hands-on mood, and Michael’s fantasy could wait.

(They had time.)

The cap clicked off the lube and Alex spread it on his fingers, watching as Michael watched him, tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips, a high flush pinking his face. His cock was full and red against his stomach—like he could be any other way after Alex said the magic words.

_Good boy._

And he was. So fucking good.

“What’s your imagination telling you?” Michael rasped.

Alex started his answer by lifting Michael’s hips and running a finger down the crack of his ass, enjoying the shiver that rippled down his body at that light touch.

“Whether it’s imagination or instinct, I’m thinking that no matter what you’ve jacked off to, you haven’t had anything down here since I left. And that means you must be aching for it, hm?”

“F-fuck, I—”

“Yes or no, Michael.”

“Yes!”

“Why did you deny yourself? I’m curious.”

He ran his finger back down Michael’s ass, catching the tip on the furl of his hole.

“Hnnn…I didn’t want…!”

Michael’s voice broke off when Alex moved his finger again, flicked over his hole again.

“Yes?”

“I didn’t want anything that wasn’t you. Your cock—size, shape, _hot_ inside me—anything else just…” He whimpered. “Isn’t good enough.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying I’ve—”

“Ruined me for anything, any _one_ else.” Michael blinked his huge, amber eyes up at Alex. “Yeah, I’m sayin’ it.”

“You…”

Unbelievable. He was unbelievable.

“You’re unbelievable,” he said it out loud, and then he leaned forward, unbalancing himself deliberately and trusting Michael to catch him, surging forward to swallow him in a kiss. Their chests pressed together—Michael bore his weight, bore him up, supported him, easily—and their hearts pounded, battering against the bone and blood and cartilage keeping them apart.

When they pulled apart, mouths slick with each other, without needing to be told Michael braced Alex to assist in leverage him back to sitting. Fuck, he was so good. Alex could almost wonder if he’d been taking mind-reading lessons from Isobel, except that this was just _Michael,_ or at least Michael with _him,_ eager and observant and attentive and just so, so _good._

_I’m going to fuck him til he cries from it._

He reached for the lube again. He knew Michael, knew how to play him, fret to string, chord to chord, so he knew how he whined when he was wet and open, teased until his cock was wept slick onto his stomach.

Michael shifted underneath him, spread his thighs best he could, tipping his hips forward chasing more friction against his ass. Alex’s head swam with sex and sweat and shimmering summer rain—he dove down deeper, licked a stripe up a tendon in Michael’s neck, bit at the edge of his jaw.

Finally, Alex took pity. “Put a pillow under your hips,” he commanded, and Michael obeyed. When he was situated, Alex took another tender kiss from his lips—so he could feel and taste the shuddery breath Michael took when Alex finally slid just one, single finger into the hot clench of his body.

“That’s it,” Alex murmured.

“Ahhh…”

He repeated, “That’s it. Does that feel good?”

“Hh—more.”

“Not yet. You can wait, can’t you? One at a time.”

Michael whined. For a brief second, Alex considered slowing down even more in the face of that impatience—but he didn’t have the patience himself.

Slowly, he began pumping that finger in and out, hooking it against Michael’s rim on every pass, keeping a close eye on every minute flicker of his face for the moment he began to give over to the sensation—only then did he crook his finger on the next pass, seeking out his prostate.

“Alex!”

“I know. Michael.”

A thousand different endearments always tripped off the tip of his tongue when he had Michael so near to all his senses, but nothing was so sweet or so true or meant so much as the simple syllables of his name.

“More—mmph!”

Alex cut off his pleading with another finger, scissoring them, stretching Michael roughly before going back to rubbing his sensitive spot in light, rolling passes, just enough to be a torment.

“You’ve already come once,” Alex said. “How long do you think you’ll be able to hold out for another? If I asked you to?”

“F-fuck—however long, I’d try, however long you wanted.”

“And do you want that? Or do you want me to let you come, like you already said, as many times as I make you, even if it starts to hurt?”

“Whatever, whatever you want.”

“No, Michael.”

He paused the rhythm of his fingers, just held still deep inside Michael’s body—Michael bit his lip, eyes flicking down and away from Alex’s face—so Alex reached up with his clean hand to thumb his chin and tilt his attention back to where it belonged. Only when Michael met his eyes again did Alex speak again.

“You’re going to decide, and I’m going to give you what you want. Okay?”

_What you want matters, too._ It was an old fight, and not one they’d ever had in so many words, and not one they were going to have right now. Not with Alex’s suitcase still packed at the foot of the bed, not with the sun still lavender-new in the sky, travel still clinging to his skin starved too much for Michael for him to even shower before having him, and having him again. The both of them threw themselves on so many grenades for the other; fighting that ground-in instinct was a daily effort, but one that they’d proven was worth it.

Michael nodded his chin into Alex’s hand, and Alex thumbed his bottom lip to make his teeth let it go. He pulled his fingers out of Michael’s ass just enough to drizzle more lube on them and then thrust them back in, a little slower this time.

“Touch yourself,” he said, following his own advice and stroking his own cock, as soon as Michael got a hand on his.

“What if I wanna touch you?” Michael said defiantly, and Alex laughed.

“You’ll get your chance, I promise. I definitely want to feel your hands on me. Never had anyone touch me like you do.”

The words came out hoarse. It was supposed to be a tease, dirty talk, part of the game they made of riling each other to fever pitch, but Alex couldn’t possibly help but to mean it.

And Michael, as always, met raw with raw.

“Never touched anybody like you,” he said, so Alex kissed his sweet, hot mouth, then trailed wet kisses from the corner across his cheek to his ear, where he said:

“So tell me what you want, so we can both get what we need.”

“Fuck me,” Michael said. “Fuck me until you come inside, that’s all I want. Fuck me like it’s been two weeks—like it’s been forever.”

For just a second, Alex had to press his forehead to Michael’s temple and collect himself. Then he said, “Okay. Okay, Michael. I can do that.”

He didn’t waste a second longer, slicking up his cock and rubbing it against the upturned seam of Michael’s ass, then guiding his tip to the hole and pressing inside.

Michael bent in a graceful, grateful arc as Alex pushed in, stretching him far beyond what two fingers did for him inch by inch; his stomach flexed, his elbows went underneath him, his throat was exposed as his head tipped back and his mouth tipped open on a hissing gasp. Alex paused, hips settling flush with his ass, and his eyes fluttered as his cock throbbed with every little twitch and clench of Michael’s muscles.

Then, Michael moved on purpose, rolling his hips to fuck himself shallowly on Alex’s hard dick, complaining, _“Fuck me,_ Alex—”

And Alex answered with a sharp thrust instead of with words, driving into Michael’s body with singular purpose, toward a singular point, palms planted on the bed on either side of the pulse rabbiting in Michael’s neck to balance him and brace some of his weight off his knee. Michael cried out, lower body curling up to meet him, toes curling, thighs trembling at the onslaught of sensation. His hands grabbed for Alex, slipping on his skin, clutching at his back.

“Alex—ah—Alex—”

Michael’s moans were just that—just a litany of his name, and Alex could hardly stand it, muscles wanting to go all weak with the emotion, but he redirected that instinct into pouring love all over and all into Michael’s body instead.

On his next thrust, Alex angled towards Michael’s prostate and struck gold, coaxing a wild, abandoned cry from Michael’s chest that he cut off with a hand across his mouth. So Alex grabbed for his wrist and forced that hand aside, pinning it beside his head.

“I want to hear you,” he said.

“Alex…”

Michael turned his head to kiss the vulnerable underside of Alex’s wrist and up his arm as far as he could reach before collapsing back down again, moaning behind closed lips when Alex stroked against his prostate again.

Alex almost did something about it—he wanted to _hear_ him—except Michael took matters into his own hands first, tugging on Alex’s hand, pulling it to his mouth, taking his index finger between his lips and sucking it down, filling his mouth as Alex stuttered in the rhythm of his cock filling his ass, as Michael’s tongue flickered against the tip of his finger.

“You little _shit,”_ Alex laughed, and Michael gave up a grin that bore his teeth against Alex’s knuckle, so Alex gave him what he wanted there, too, driving two fingers against his tongue, toward the back of his throat.

Fuck, fuck, Michael was so gorgeous with his mouth full—like he wasn’t gorgeous any way, all the time, taking Alex’s breath away, turning his world inside out. Next time one of them had to leave, they’d have to do more, do better, video chat or send more pictures or _something,_ even if it meant coaxing Michael out of his comfort zone when it came to technology.

But that was for the future, and Alex wanted to _soak_ himself in the present, the tight clutch of Michael’s body, the pulse and strain of his own muscles, the heat in his blood and the sounds of skin and pleasure and the deep perfume of musk and rain, and—

The best laid plans slid aside for what mattered, beyond any clever talk, beyond any of the games they played together, beyond anything but chasing the kind of completion they could only find in each other. And Michael matched Alex thrust for thrust, fingers curling against his shoulder, sliding down to rest a palm flat against his heart. Pain seared across his chest for a split second—Alex cried out—and then it faded, and Alex was left clutching Michael’s hand to him, pumping out the last few strokes before he came deep inside his body. Michael tumbled right behind him, hips jumping, thighs shaking as he came all over himself for the second time. His head jerked back so sharply Alex’s fingers were pulled from his mouth.

But that was okay, because Alex flopped down to the mattress and occupied his mouth another way, kissing him in between sharing breathless laughs.

“How’s that for a welcome home?” Michael asked hoarsely.

Alex nuzzled their noses together and answered, “Am I home? This isn’t a dream I’m having asleep on the plane?”

Whatever Michael was going to say in response was cut off by Alex’s stomach grumbling, so Michael just laughed again and said, “Are you usually hungry in dreams? How about you go ahead and grab the shower while I whip up breakfast, or, uh…” He checked the clock, and his grin turned sheepish. “Maybe brunch.”

“That’s a good plan.” But Alex didn’t budge, and Michael didn’t make to move, either. “Maybe later.”

“Later,” Michael agreed.

Later came with Alex’s hair still dripping onto the shoulders of one of Michael’s old, thin, soft t-shirts, sitting at the kitchen table with the sun in full splendor gilding the floor, the wood, the air itself. Michael put a plate and an omelet on the table in front of him and sat across, and they ate in happy silence, Michael’s handprint and his love nestled against Alex’s breast.

He couldn’t stop touching it, the place on his skin that had only just begun to shimmer, passing his thumb over it again and again like he expected it to _feel_ different somehow.

“You’re already feeling it? My emotions, I mean?” Michael asked, his eyes resting on Alex’s chest, a little furrow between his own brows.

Alex reached out to take his hand, rubbing his knuckles like he’d just rubbed the handprint in an attempt to reassure. “Just a little. It’s…it’s something else.” He lifted Michael’s hand to kiss it. “You’re going to have to practice more.”

Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “Is that a reference to the orgasms I still owe you?”

“Ha, no. It’s me saying…I want to be able to feel you any time we want that there. I…I always want to carry your love inside me, and do that for you, how this feels, I…”

Michael leaned over the table and kissed him, threading his fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. Their food got a little cold before they got around to eating it, but that was just okay.


End file.
